


Your Weakness, His Strength

by lostinparallel



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Murder, References to Drugs, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3096788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinparallel/pseuds/lostinparallel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A peaceful night of watching the city is interrupted when a rival gang orders the capture and interrogation of the Fake AH Crew’s notorious Skeletor, a suspect in a dangerous heist that resulted in the acquisition of two million, gang owned, US dollars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Weakness, His Strength

The rooftop juts out over the rest of the city, towering above a vast ocean of traffic. Civilians flood the streets, streaming out of cheap shops and shitty apartment buildings and into the dismal night below.

Brisk air gnaws at exposed skin. Ray tugs his hoodie sleeves over his fingertips and pulls its hood over his mess of dark hair.

The sky is bleak and empty, save for the ashy clouds that block out the cold light of the sun.

Ray shifts his weight from one foot to another, nervously tapping at his earpiece in the hope that that incessant buzzing over the line will stop. He turns to face Ryan but the other man seems unfazed by the static noise rattling in his ear.

Ryan’s mask lifts slightly to reveal his mouth, lips set in a thin line. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before crushing the tip against the stone railing that outlines the rooftop. The faint glow of the cigarette diminishes and a trail of smoke spirals upwards, adding to the foul greyness above.

There’s no heist, no meeting, no dangerous transaction – nothing but the firm presence of the man beside Ray and a menacing skull mask that stares out into the horizon.

Ray inhales slowly, allowing cold air to flood through his lungs. He shuffles closer to Ryan in an attempt to share the other man’s body heat, but of course Ryan catches on. He’s too clever to ever be caught off-guard by Ray.

“I think Gavin left his com on again,” says Ray quietly, pointing to his earpiece.

Ryan doesn’t turn to face him. Instead, he tucks his fingers under the base of his mask and slides it over his head in one fluid motion. His chestnut brown hair, pulled back in a loose ponytail, falls briefly in front of his eyes but he sweeps it away with a bat of his hand.

“Yeah,” Ryan sighs, raising a hand to silence his radio.

Deft fingertips brush past Ray’s ear and he feels a shiver run down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. There’s a small click and the static sound piercing the gentle quiet ceases.

It was a small, unassuming gesture but it makes something in Ray’s chest lift. Ryan does things like that a lot, and it’s possessive and unnecessary but Ray can’t bring himself to mind.

“We should get out of here, huh?” says Ray, fiddling with the frayed ends of his sleeves.

“Yeah,” Ryan repeats, much softer this time.

Ray has never seen him so relaxed, not since they were smoking blunts on Mt Chiliad and Ryan actually fell asleep on his shoulder.

He doesn’t want to leave. The breeze is delicate and the dull colours of the night sky are soothing. But the conversation is slow and the tension is stifling and, despite the empty space surrounding Ray, the feeling of freedom is nonexistent.

Ryan pulls away from the stone railing, skull mask dangling in the gentle grasp of his fingertips. A small smile graces his features when his eyes finally meet Ray’s.

There’s a flash of movement in his peripheral and, before Ray can even contemplate a feeling of unease, a shot rings out.

The bullet pierces the silence and Ray watches in horror as Ryan crumples to the ground.

“Shit,” Ray hisses, drawing out a pistol and crouching low to the ground.

A lone sniper perches on a high rooftop a few buildings away. Ray fires twice but both bullets miss their mark and the sniper hops onto the adjacent roof to find cover.

Ray pulls the trigger again but the magazine clicks emptily. Refilling his pistol ammo wasn’t a thought that occurred to him when Ryan asked if he wanted to go some place quiet. Rookie mistake.

“Fuck,” he grinds out the word through clenched teeth.

A steady flow of blood oozes from Ryan’s knee, staining his callous hands a deep red.

With unsteady fingers, Ray hastily pulls Ryan’s Fixation Bowie out of its leather knife holster. The blade rests heavily in his hands but Ray manages to clamber to his feet, holding it tightly, when the first man runs at him.

The guy is clearly a mercenary, decked from head to toe in body armour, so Ray drives the knife into his throat and he goes down in a heartbeat.

Two more men dart out from the right, pistols raised. They don’t shoot and Ray wonders if taking him and Ryan out isn’t the game plan. He pushes the thought to the back of his mind as they sprint towards him and draws out his own combat knife, jamming his and Ryan’s blades into the mercs’ chests respectively.

The fourth guy is taller and broader than the rest. Ray barely has time to steel himself before the man charges, knocking him off balance and dragging both of their bodies to the ground.

Ray’s head connects with concrete. A resounding crack echoes through the air and pain blossoms in the back of his skull. The world starts to spin and Ray knows he’s lost, gasping shallowly when something solid pummels the side of his head and everything fades to black.

**

Ray comes to twenty minutes later with a monstrous headache and painful cramp that tugs sharply at his arms.

His eyes flutter open, pupils slowly adjusting to the sudden darkness of his surroundings. A dim light illuminates the room, swinging idly from a loose wire and flickering sporadically.

The stench of blood and sweat permeates the damp air.

Dried blood cakes the back of Ray’s head. He shivers, the slightest of movements sending russet flakes crumbling down his back. He can taste the sickly copper in his mouth and it makes him want to gag.

Ray shakes his head, ignoring the sharp, jabbing sensation that pierces his skull as he tries to silence the ringing in his ears.

The sound fades and is immediately replaced by a series of loud thumps and muffled grunts of pain. A malicious string of laughter follows the noise and Ray’s stomach drops.

“You hear that? Says he doesn’t know where the money is,” comes a nasally voice.

“Guy clearly didn’t take lessons in Bullshit 101,” says another, much deeper voice.

The thumping continues and Ray feels his heartbeat pick up, hammering against the battered wall of his chest.

A group of men, dressed in black clothing and grey Kevlar vests, huddle around the far corner of the room.

Ryan’s bloody skull mask lies discarded on the dusty, stone floor, cracked in several places and abandoned to the heavy footsteps of the mercs. One of the men kicks the mask across the room and it skids to a halt at Ray’s feet. The man follows its path with his gaze, eyes landing on Ray’s immobile form.

“The other one’s awake,” he says, striding towards Ray and gripping him by his hair.

The man gives a sharp tug and Ray’s mouth falls open in a silent gasp of pain. A deep purple bruise swells across the man’s eye, the mark of a well-aimed punch. His greasy, dirty blond hair is slicked back and his Kevlar vest is flecked with blood.

“Maybe this one’ll be more helpful than his _friend,_ ” he says coldly. Ray attempts to pull away from the man’s rancid breath but it only causes his grip on him to tighten.

The thumping starts again, louder this time, and the sound of fists beating against flesh is met by a strangled cry.

Ray’s eyes dart around the room. There’s a low hum of electricity and the light flickers on, casting a faint glow on the shadowy corner.

Ryan’s arms are bound tightly behind his back. One leg is pulled towards his chest while the other is stretched out on the floor. Blood pools around his knee, and his head lolls from side-to-side as though he doesn’t have enough strength to hold it up.

A knot closes in Ray’s throat as one of the mercs pulls back on Ryan’s long hair, revealing the angry bruises and deep gashes marking his face. The red and black paint masking Ryan’s face is smeared and peeling off. Streams of blood gush from his split lip, dripping down his chin and seeping onto the material of his torn, white shirt.

The merc raises his fist to strike Ryan again and Ray feels a wave of anger surge through him.

“Don’t touch him!” he roars.

The merc freezes mid-swing, regarding Ray with a curious expression. He brings his fist down, regardless. Knuckles crash against bone and Ryan is left sputtering and spitting blood.

The merc then nods to the man next to Ray, a cruel grin spreading across his thin lips.

Suddenly the hold on Ray’s hair releases, only to be replaced by the cold metal of a blade pressing against his throat. Ray’s eyes widen, blood rushing through his veins as he stares helplessly at Ryan’s hunched over form.

There is no emotion in Ryan’s expression. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, eyes boring into the man holding the knife.

“He’s worth more to you alive than dead.” Ryan’s voice is hoarse from crying out but the steady confidence in it remains unbroken.

“Not more than the fuckload of cash you stole from my employer,” says the man.

A chorus of agreement meets the man’s statement and Ray notices something dark flicker in Ryan’s eyes.

The man digs the knife into Ray’s skin, hard enough to draw blood and Ray fails to bite back the whimper that passes his lips.

Barely a second passes before the eruption of a gunshot shatters the stillness of the room and the man at Ray’s side drops to the floor.

Ryan has thrown his body to the side, his bound hands clutching the discrete handgun he keeps tucked in the back of his pants. Smoke rises from the end of the barrel and a sinister smile spreads across Ryan’s face.

The mercs instantly swarm to Ryan but he holds them off, kicking out with his good leg before leaping to his feet.

The shortest of the group starts forwards with a small knife. Ryan turns around a split-second before he swings, back facing him so the blade cuts the ropes tying his hands together. He quickly shakes free of the bonds, snatching the knife out of the merc’s hands before back-heeling him in the chest and sending him reeling into the man behind him.

Ryan caves in the skull of the guy opposite him, snaps the neck of the man flanking to the left and slits the throat of the merc who had been beating him. Ryan leaves him to bleed out, wrenching the holstered pistol from the merc’s belt and shooting another man with it point blank in the temple.

Corpses litter the bloodstained floor.

The merc with the slit throat begins gargling and hacking, choking on his blood, so Ryan stamps on his mangled neck to silence him.

The bullet wound in Ryan’s leg and the gashes covering his face seem to catch up with him, and he sways on the spot for a moment. Panic rises in Ray’s chest as Ryan staggers over to him, sinking to his knees and bowing his head.

“Ryan—” Ray starts.

Blood pounds in his ears. His vision swims, greying out at the edges as Ryan tears through the rope tying Ray’s arms together. Ryan’s hands tremble as he does it and that is the most unsettling thing of all.

Ray swallows down his concern and throws his arms around Ryan the moment he is free, pressing their chests together and enveloping him in a fierce embrace.

Ryan hugs back weakly, dropping his chin to rest it on Ray’s shoulder with a slow exhale of breath.

“Let’s get out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by bilvy's Fake AH Crew AU. If you haven't read her comics already then go do that:  
> http://fakeahcomics.tumblr.com/tagged/comic/chrono


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